The White Horse
by JustDefy
Summary: This is a story set in an AU, diverging from canon in the middle of Severus's Fifth Year at Hogwarts. Hermione sees a strange person on her first day of school. Severus's best friend Regulus Black has mysteriously disappeared, and it seems that the entire world is changing for him, possibly for the worse. And much more. As a result of unforeseen changes, this is now on haitus.
1. Chapter I

**Author's Note: I do not own these characters that are featured in this story. That person who does would be our dear friend Joanne Rowling.**

* * *

There was a girl standing outside, with her mother and father. That action should be normal, as children frequently stand outside with their parents before boarding the train, alone, but for some inexplicable reason it bothered the brunette, who was now reduced to standing there in the middle of the train, staring outside the window, at that other girl. A window from one of the compartments was open, allowing the voices of the girl and her parents to float through air.

The girl was pleading with her parents. Quite natural, as this will be her first time away from home for an extended period of time.

"Mais, Père, je ne sais pas si je veux aller."

"Ce sera bien."

"Mais je ne peux pas bien parler l'anglais, et vous le savez."

"Non, non. Tien anglais est meilleur que tu penses. Tu vas tenir dans bien avec tout le monde."

The brunette inside the train couldn't understand a single word coming from the three of them, but the foreignness of the language wasn't what bothered her. She stood there wondering, watching, listening, observing for a few minutes, before she was jerked back into reality.

A male voice to the left, close, brash, and loud, entered her ears.

"You're blocking my way!"

Startled, the brunette spun around to come face to face with a red-headed eleven-year-old. A little annoyed at the rudeness of the fellow, she stated, "Well, I'm sorry, _sir_."

She picked up her giant suitcase and walked into the compartment with the open window.

"Excuse me, but is it all right if I sit in here with you chaps?"

The dark-haired person with a noticeable scar on his forehead responded, "Yes, it's fine."

She lifted her suitcase into the storage area of the compartment, and sat down in the sofa directly across from the two lads.

The scarred boy saw that the brunette had adjusted herself to the comforts of the room and took the opportunity to ask her to her name.

"Hermione. Hermione Granger. Now, what are your names?"

The second fellow beat the first to replying, saying, "I'm Sean O'Rahilly, Hermione. Nice to meet you."

"And I'm Henry Black," the dark-haired boy responded, extending his right hand forward. Hermione shook the hand of Henry and that of Sean.

Hermione turned towards the window to look at the girl outside again. The boarding platform was all but empty of students, as everybody else had already entered the train, save for that one.

"Très bien alors, j'irai, Père, Mère."

The mother stooped down to kiss the girl on her cheek, saying afterwards, "Au revoir. S'il te plait reste sûr."

"Adieu!"

And then the girl turned around and walked to the nearest entrance into the train, which was about to leave. While that girl turned, Hermione noticed something about that girl that only increased her suspicion. Even though Hermione was only able to see the girl's face for less than a second, that miniscule period of time was enough to have Hermione come to her own unsettling conclusion. _Let's see, her hair, her ears, her eyes, her height, everything... The same. I will have to confront whoever this person is, because not doing so is simply not an option._ Hermione then looked at the girl's hands hanging down next to her body. They were holding two books, a very small book by Theodore Storm, and a massive book by Victor Hugo. Hermione instantly became jealous of the other…

* * *

To say that it was a dark and stormy night is to underestimate the tempest brewing in Lincolnshire. As Severus attempted to make his way across the street, rain carried east by winds at fifty kilometres per hour splattered all across the face of his, and at times hail was brought before his body. If not for his long hair that dangled in front of his face protecting the fragile organs of sight, hearing, smell, and taste, he may not have survived the struggle against the wind across the street.

The street was barren, nay, nearly all of Lincoln and nearby Hykeham and Waddington was barren, as the muggle residents sought to take shelter within their own comfort zones, unwilling to brave the dangerous and potentially deadly calamity outside. Severus flinched as he heard a crack and a boom, and the thud of an anchor utility pole landing from a vertical position, the brackets making a large clanging noise against the asphalt. He could smell the sulpher coming out of an unknown gas tank from somewhere down the road a couple of streets, and could hear the noise of a Mercedes as its drunk driver rammed the wagon into a lamp on the side of the road. On the other side of the road, a big flash of light suddenly appeared, and just as suddenly disappeared again, only to be followed by the thunderous noise that always succeed such a transfer of charge.

Severus reached the other side of the road, and forced open the door of the building directly in front of him. Waving his wand, he forced the door back shut to prevent the storm raging outside from making its way inside. He was met by another man, a blond man who save for his hair colour looked a lot like David Miliband.

"Greetings, Hugo."

"Français uniquement, Severus. Nous ne sommes pas venus à cette réunion seulement de parler anglais."

Severus sneered. "Fine, _Hugo Requins_ ," he replied in French.

"Well, let's get started, shall we?"

"Wait a second, where is Jean?"

"Who?"

"Jean Granger. You told me in that letter you sent me to come here for this meeting, and that she will also be present here as well."

A man was strolling towards them.

"Severus, I am Jean Granger," the man said, "and you need to learn how to pronounce my name correctly. It is pronounced as it is read in French, not as in English like the name of that Scottish female friend of yours. Nice to meet you." Severus and Jean shook hands.

"Jean is an old friend of mine's, our friendship together dates back to our childhood in Calais."

The three of them walked over to a table to sit down.

"You may think yourself to be very competent at French, Severus" Hugo continued, "but I will tell you the truth, you still have that accent to get rid of. While your English friends may not be able to distinguish between your French and ours, when you eventually go onto the continent and mingle with the population there, your accent as of right now can be detected from kilometres away. This is partially why we are here again, so we could make more progress in wiping that accent clean from your voice."

"Okay, okay, I get it, more practice, blah blah blah. But that isn't the purpose of our meeting today, is it now? I believe we have other, more important things to discuss here, like the continued presence of that one idiot terrorizing the countryside of Great Britain."

He expected a response from Hugo, but it was Jean who responded. "Yes. That Lord Voldemort. I wasn't present in the United Kingdom this past week – I had some business over in Lyons to take care of – so can you inform me on anything important that occurred during my absence?"

"Six days ago, I'm pretty sure Severus has heard of this already, but Regulus Black has disappeared off the face of this planet."

"Aye, Hugo. He was last seen in Barnard Park, possibly talking to a number of Death Eaters. I presume that you, Jean, are in on the secret…"

Both Hugo and Jean nodded their heads.

"That proves to be very unfortunate to the cause for the Greater Good, for as you know we get quite a lot of our intelligence about the plans and happenings within the organization of the Death Eaters from him," Hugo continues. "Without him, our efforts to defeat Lord Voldemort no longer look as promising as it did previously. It would be wise if we could make an effort to track him down."

"I wasn't there personally myself, but Jean, not this Jean here, was present, and she told me that Regulus left a couple odd statements on a sheet of paper before his disappearance. I have that sheet with me right now." Severus paused, taking a folded sheet of white paper from inside his cloak, and placing it on the table. "Here it is, the words, in English:

 _Who are those hooded hordes swarming over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth ringed by the flat horizon only; what is the city over the mountains, cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air, falling towers_

The most puzzling, to me. I cannot make sense of this, it's all Greek to me."

"Well, that sure is interesting, Severus. There is no need to give this to me, for I'm not as intelligent of a person as you are, and even if I was, I am quite the busy man here, making trips from here to Paris, to Zurich, to Marseilles, to Brussels, to Barcelona. And so is Jean. Keep it, try to see what it could possibly mean. Meanwhile," Hugo turned towards Jean, "the Blacks narrowly just weaseled out of another encounter with Lord Voldemort four days ago."

"Doesn't this make it the second time that Lily and Sirius have defied Voldemort?"

"Yes. Are you surprised? The Longbottoms successfully resisted Voldemort more times."

And so, for another hour and a half, in fluent French, the three of them spoke about current events, about the current status of Wizarding society, about plans of the Order of the Phoenix, about plans of Dumbledore, about the Death Eaters, and more…

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **There is quite the number of French sentences in this story. Unfortunately, as I am not a French speaker, these statements might be incorrect French, filled with mistakes. If anybody finds any mistakes in my French, please inform me so I could fix it.**


	2. Chapter II

**Author's Note: I do not own these characters that are featured in this story. That person who does would be our dear friend Joanne Rowling.**

* * *

The train has reached a station out in the Scottish Highlands, where it decreased its velocity to nothing, and opened its doors to the outside world. As the doors gave way, there came streaming from the bodies of the train the masses of people, between the ages of eleven and eighteen. Those persons, after departing the train, made their way under an arch with Scottish Gaelic on them, a remnant of the old Scottish Kingdom that the Dunkelds once ruled over, and through old gates that were constructed in the early nineteenth century, and forwards more distance until they came upon the edge of a giant lake, where in the far distance lies a lonely and mighty castle, overlooking the nearby countryside on top of a high mountain.

There were threstals waiting patiently for the children, and attached to the threstals were white chariots. Some twenty minutes passed while the students filed into the chariots, and any rational person would wonder why the engineers of this train station here didn't extend the tracks just a little further so it reached the castle itself and building the station there, facilitating easier travel between the castle and the outside world. Instead, the hundreds of men and women who travel here every year are forced off the train about seven or eight kilometres away, with only a slow form of travel in between the station and the entrance of the castle. An hour or two of the lives of everybody involved wasted, when they could have gotten to their destination much faster, not to mention the stress on each and every person in carrying their heavy suitcases containing all their belongings for the year.

However, after everybody was ready and the threstals began flying over the lake to the front of the castle, any rational person would have to admit that the view from up above is a magnificent one. This is perhaps the reason why everything is designed the way it is here; as in the trip above water time ceased to exist, it was simply the men, the women, and the contrast in the landscape between the enclave of plain and the Grampian Mountains that surround it and the lake. However, after an unspecified amount of time, everybody's tranquil trip was abruptly stopped, for as with all wonderful things in the world they will all cease to exist, disappear, be blown away, gone into the wind.

From there, the children took the long hike from the base of the mountain up the mountain until finally reaching a platform that signaled that they were at the front entrance of the building. As was the tradition in this place and time, the oldest ones were the ones to enter the castle, first the outside doors, and then another set of doors that would lead to a great hall, where tables and seats are already in place to be occupied by those bodies. And file in they did, the 7th years, then the 6th years, all the way down to the 2nd years, where they sat down in their designated row of tables for the House they were assigned to their first year at Hogwarts.

The first years, being that this is their first time stepping onto the floor of this boarding school, did not have anywhere to sit, although there were seats available. They were instead told to patiently stand in the middle until directed towards the section by a speaking hat.

When everybody was ready to go, a man with grey hair and a beard reminiscent of Peter Cooper's beard stood up and began by coughing to the entire Great Hall,

"Excuse me, everybody, but can you all quiet down. It is about to begin."

It took about a minute to get all the students to calm down, but a minute was enough.

"Welcome back, everybody, to another year of Hogwarts! And Welcome, to all of those who are joining us for the first time. I am Albus Dumbledore, your Headmaster for this year."

Applause rang throughout the Great Hall as Dumbledore finished the introductory statement. He then continued with a speech regarding the overall status of Hogwarts as of the year nineteen-ninety-one, and the status of the Wizarding World, and the expectations for each and every student attending Hogwarts. This was succeeded by the initiations of the Sorting Ceremony and afterwards by a speech by that sentinent hat. Now, the first-year students, one at a time, began to ascend to place the hat upon themselves, where the entire school then promptly informed of the house the student will be in.

"Gregory Goyle," the Sorting Hat announced to the entire school.

A small, slightly obese boy with dark hair strolled onto the stage and sat on the stool dedicated to the ceremony.

After half a minute as the Sorting Hat attempted to sort through the thoughts of Goyle it announced, "Slytherin!"

Cheers erupted from the Slytherin row of the Great Hall, as Gregory Goyle joined the table.

Henry turned towards Sean and Hermione, and asked them, "Did you know that there's a French student joining the school?"

"No…" Sean replied.

"Well, that's what everybody keeps on telling me, apart from 'You're the Boy who defeated the Dark Lord.'"

From across the hall, the Sorting Hat boomed again, "Tracey Davis!"

"Why would a French student come here instead of Beauxbatons?"

"What?"

"Beauxbatons."

"And what is Beauxbatons?"

"Another school of magic, for people living in France and Switzerland. It would be a nightmare to get all of them up here to Hogwarts, and the language barrier as well, which is why I was asking why she would come here in the first place."

The conversation was interrupted by the announcement that Tracey Davis has just joined the Slytherins, and more cheering from the left side of the hall.

"Well, beats me, mate."

"What about you, Hermione?"

"I, well, I think I saw her earlier today, right before the train left King's Cross."

"And the fact that she's attending this school didn't bother you a single bit?"

"Well, the fact that she was here did bother me, but not because of the French."

"Jeanne Darnay!" the Sorting Hat continued.

"Well, I think she is the French student, whoever goes up to the Sorting Hat next. The way the Sorting Hat pronounced the name, she has to be French."

A girl with long, very messy brown hair that nearly covered her brown eyes approached the sorting ceremony stool.

"Wait a second, Hermione. You didn't tell me you had a twin."

"I don't have any siblings, least of all a twin. I am an only child, Sean."

"Then why does she look, not similar, but _identical_ to you?"

"I don't know. For Merlin's sake, she's French. Of course, I would not be related to her."

"She can be your long-lost identical twin you never knew about. That may explain why she's here."

The Sorting Hat's voice reverberated throughout the Great Hall, with another definitive declaration of "Slytherin!" This was followed by the usual rounds of claps, hoots, and hollers from the Slytherins.

"Well, Sean. I don't know much about this school yet, but from what I've gathered from you and a few others so far, if this Jeanne girl was somehow related to me, she would have been placed in the same house as I am, as people from the same family are placed in the same house. She's in Slytherin, and I'm in Gryffindor, and so there is no way we are related to each other."

"But…" Sean continued, only to be interrupted by the Sorting Hat again.

"Blaise Zabini!"

The line of students standing in the middle dwindled down to a couple of students as the Sorting Hat made quick work of the students, browsing through the thoughts of each and every one of them, and then broadcasting to the entire school of Hogwarts the House the students will be in. Soon, the last person's name was called by the sorting hat, "Ron Weasley!" and he was sent towards Gryffindor, where he sat down on the opposite end of the table from where Henry, Sean, and Hermione were sitting, with what seemed to be his older brothers.

With the Sorting Hat stowed away, Dumbledore rose up again and approached the large podium.

"As many of you may have already known, after many years of being Professor and helping Hogwarts out during dark times, Hoarce Slughorn has decided to retire from his position as the Potions Professor. Therefore, we have found a new professor to replace him. Everybody, welcome Ursula Albrecht, the new Potions Professor!"

* * *

It was still raining by the time Severus left the bar, but thankfully the storm had all but died down, and it was only flurries in comparison to the wrath of nature that had existed for the past few hours. The streets were no longer quiet, as the city of Lincoln was on high gear to survey the damage and to give a hand out to everybody in need of help. Muggle reporters were present at every corner of the city, and the last thing Severus wanted to do was to be interviewed by the BBC or the Daily Mail. Severus entered a dark alleyway and apparated away from Lincoln, making sure before doing so that there were no observant muggles around. He stepped out onto a street in Islington, and made his way towards a nonexistent house, to the outside world.

12\. Grimmauld Place.

Severus rang the doorbell and waited, and was soon responded.

"Hello, Severus Snape."

"Greetings to you, Richard Carter."

Severus entered the house, as Richard closed the door behind him. In the far distance at the other end of the hallway, a woman shouting curses at the two men. Severus pointed his wand at the portrait of Mrs. Black and roared, " _Slienzio!"_ Immediately, curtains appeared from the left and right and covered Mrs. Black's face, prevent her from uttering another word for the time being.

"Richard, where is Albus Dumbledore?"

"I don't know, Severus."

"I was supposed to meet with him about right now."

"Well, Albus is a very busy person right now, even more so since Voldemort became as powerful as he is. Give him a couple of minutes of breathing room, will you?"

Severus did not respond to the rhetorical question. The two of them continued on down the hallway, and then entered one of the rooms to the right.

"How exactly is this going to help our cause, Kingsley?"

"Well, Natalie, it may not seem like it, but Voldemort and his group of terrorists have their weak points as well. Some of those Death Eaters are only in the Death Eaters because others have rejected them, neglected their well-being, and by joining the Death Eaters they hope they could find someplace where they could fit in nicely. If we get them to see what fools they are being, and give them an alternative to... Oh, hello Severus. How are you doing today?"

"I am fine, Kingsley thank you very much. Hello to you, Natalie Holkham."

Suddenly, there was another ring on the doorbell. Severus turned towards Richard and announced, "It is probably Albus. I'll go get it."

Severus, having just walked into the room, turned around and walked back out. He opened the door, just as Richard did mere moments ago, and as he did, his eyes opened in disbelief.

"Jean, what in the world happened?"

The woman on the other side of the door was carrying a man's body. She pointed at the body and told him, "Severus, this here is Alaster Moody. He's bleeding profusely, and he needs treatment, immediately."


	3. Chapter III

**Author's Note: I do not own these characters that are featured in this story. That person who does would be our dear friend Joanne Rowling.**

* * *

And so, it was decided.

Previously, the classes of Hogwarts were conducted by House – frequently two houses would get together and attend the same classes together. This was the case at Hogwarts for a very long time, before Dumbledore received an idea from a number of his friends teaching at Beauxbatons – that of placing everybody in the same class. Although the concept was conceived in Beauxbatons, it underwent a number of different transformations in order to comply with the atmosphere of Hogwarts. Beauxbatons did not have a housing system, so placing everybody in the same class was just that – placing everybody in the same class. However, there are already two sets of classes in Hogwarts, which means that literally placing everybody in the same class would make the classes too large to be teachable. Instead, while all four houses will be sharing classes together, its students will be randomly distributed throughout the classes throughout the day. This meant that under the new system, a student from Ravenclaw can have a student from Slytherin for all of her classes and a Gryffindor for her second, fourth, and sixth classes in the day, but not see her friend from the same house until lunch-time, or until classes are over, while in the old system she is stuck with Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs for the entire day.

The two Frenchmen who suggested the system to Dumbledore had a hard time convincing him, as Dumbledore was of the typical Victorian attitude that "If it isn't broken, then do not fix it." Dumbledore harboured this feeling until it was kindly pointed out by the male French professor that the 2-House classes system in place at the time is broken, as the intense inter-house rivalries lead to the majorities of fights between students, and that having all people from all four houses in the same class would defuse some of it, as it wouldn't lead to the entire class splitting into two distinct groups all participating in fights.

It was in this situation that Hermione ended up in, having to constantly walk from place to place, classroom to classroom, having to sit with strangers, and different strangers each time – it was far different from her experiences in primary school; even in Year Six in the muggle school she attended did she only have one teacher, one classroom, and indeed many of her fellow classmates were the same as the ones from Year Five or Year Four.

The class subjects were also far from typical. From Potions, to Charms, to Transfiguration, to Defence against the Dark Arts, these classes were ones that Hermione has never heard of before in her life prior to stepping into this building. Granted, some of the classes, like Potions and History of Magic, seem to be the wizard's equivalent of muggle classes like chemistry and British history, but even then the terminology was completely different, the people completely different ( _Who in Merlin's pants is Ignatius Perevell_? wondered Hermione). And for those classes specially designed to teach how to use a wand, Hermione found them to be most unusual. And so, being stuck in a position where she was surrounded by people she didn't know, learning about unfamiliar materials that nobody bothered to tell her beforehand, because there was nobody in her family or relatives who could tell her beforehand, learning about the rules and society of Hogwarts and of the wizarding world in general, Hermione decided to utilize one of her biggest advantages over many of the other wizards – she may not be familiar with spells, but she is an avid reader, and there are giant tomes of textbooks in front of her, waiting to be read, to be devoured, consumed.

And read she did, for the rest of the day, for the entirety of the next, and the succeeding one after. Some of the textbooks had practice exercises after each chapter, and so she did those as well. During classes, when the other students were neglecting their classwork in favour of chatting to one another on latest gossip, Hermione found herself gravitating towards a corner of the room, silently completing all the work by herself. She fancied that, for she didn't really want others distracting her, not at this time and date of the year. During free periods, she was usually in the Library, or otherwise in the Gryffindor Common Room, studying, preparing herself for the next day's set of classes.

After a couple of days, she noticed a few patterns. The same people always seem to come and sit by her in the library, all of them just as silent as she was. This included two Ravenclaw female students named Luna Lovegood and Padma Pavil, and a Slytherin named Tracey Davis. She figured that all three of them were in the same position as she was, alone, with nothing else to do, and wondered who amongst the four of them would be the first one to break the eternal silence; Hermione knew that whoever that person might be, it was most definitely not going to be her.

* * *

"Come in, _then_ ," Severus ordered to Jean, and then immediately spun around and yelled in the opposite direction, "Natalie! Richard!"

The shouts were answered by hurried footsteps from a room down the hallway, as three people popped out of the room running down the hallway.

"Natalie, Alaster Moody is near death. I need you to go upstairs and tend to him, as you are the only person in here who has the necessary skills to do so, as a professional healer. If you need any assistance, get Lily to help you," Jean reported. "I also need Sirius down here as well, so when you ascend to the second floor, please inform him of so."

Jean handed the body of Alaster Moody over to Natalie Holkham, and Natalie left. Half a minute later, Sirius bounded down the stairs, and as he reached the bottom he boomed the one word he had in his mouth.

" _What_?!"

"Alaster Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, Thomas Ridge, James Potter, and a number of other Aurors and Ministry officials were walking down St. Nicholas Way in the borough of Sutton when they were ambushed by Death Eaters."

"Ambushed by Death Eaters? You mean that…"

"Yes, ambushed by Death Eaters. Moody was the one who was out in front, out in the open, so when the surprise attack came he instantly went down, having no time to respond."

"And…"

"The crowd of Death Eaters proved to be larger, more powerful than expected. We had to enlist the help of some very powerful wizards and witches; Albus Dumbledore is over there helping the Aurors fight back, but I'm afraid even he isn't enough."

Another person joined the group there.

"That means that all of you, Richard, Kingsley, Sirius, and if Natalie doesn't need your help, you, Lily, need to apparate immediately to the intersection of St. Nicholas Way and Crown Road and help them out."

"She doesn't, Jean."

"Very well then, go!"

The four of them exited the building and vanished.

"What about I?" Severus turned towards Jean and asked her. "If they need all the able-bodied help they need, then why am I not to go?"

"Have you forgotten _your_ purpose, your mission, Severus? The last thing Albus Dumbledore wants us to do is to get into needless battles when we do not have to, especially when the mission that we are assigned to could mean the difference between the defeat of evil and servitude under Lord Voldemort."

Severus did not respond to the words of Jean.

"Now, come here, for even though Albus Dumbledore isn't here we could still take the initiative to destroy these dark items here."

"But I thought Dumbledore was the only person who actually knows how–"

"Stop pretending like you don't already know, you insufferable _know-it-all_. Your pretense at ignorance might fool others, but it has never and will never fool me. I saw you in the Hogwarts' library the other day, in the restricted section, looking at the part of the book on Dark Magic that tells you in great detail how to destroy Horcruxes."

The two of them entered the dining room of 12 Grimmauld Place, and Jean took out Salazar Slytherin's locket, Helga Hufflepuff's cup, Marvolo Gaunt's ring, Godric Gryffindor's sword, and a small leather diary that she had managed to get from Regulus Black before he mysteriously disappeared, who before that had managed to get it from Lucius Malfoy some half a year ago with the approval of none other than Lord Voldemort himself.

* * *

25 June 1995, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic

Charles Manette had in front of him a vial of silvery-clear liquid, a similarly silver tiara, a huge curved pointed piece of bone which presumably could have been broken off from a giant mythical being, and a letter, all within a safe. After weeks of sleepless nights he was finally able to get all the protective charms off of the safe and get it to open. He didn't know the significance of any of the items, or why Thérèse would be carrying these items with her.

 _Thérèse doesn't know of any of these items either, because she has never successfully opened it,_ Charles thought, in French, of course. _Hadn't it been Thérèse who came to me over the Long Ascencion weekend to ask me to help her in opening the safe?_

The other three items he placed aside, as perhaps Charles could garner some for information from the letter.

The letter is written in a foreign language. It had been a long time since Charles has seen the language in use – fifteen years to be exact. It has been even longer since he has read documents in that language, and after many years of nonuse his skills in that particular language are much atrophied. Even though this letter is very brief, it still is a challenge to read for Charles. The contents of the letter are as follows:

 _Hermione,_

 _Take the contents of this flask and dump it inside of a Pensive; then enter it. I hope you could forgive me for what I've done here, since you would not be seeing any of your friends anymore…_

 _S.S._

There was a postscript hastily written down underneath the actual letter, as if whoever this S.S. person is was in a hurry when writing down it.

 _P.S.: Take the fang and stab it into the tiara. Time is running out for me, or otherwise I would have done it already._

Charles rose from his seat and exited his room, making his way to the room directly across from his. He knocked on the door, and was promptly received by Thérèse.

"Thérèse, what _is_ this?"

Thérèse took one look at the letter, and the two of them, the Potions professor and the DCAS professor, bore the same puzzled, confused expression.


	4. Chapter IV

**Author's Note: I do not own these characters that are featured in this story. That person who does would be our dear friend Joanne Rowling.**

 **Also, in this chapter there is no POVs from Hermione or Severus. You could blame partially my writer's block trying to write the two parts and partially my own laziness. I'm sorry, especially since this story here revolves around Hermione and Severus. Instead, I offer you some glimpses into the future of where this is all headed, from the point of view of our favourite male Potions professor in this story so far.**

* * *

22 August 1997, Coquelles, Nord-Pas-de-Calais

Charles Manette wasn't accustomed to read muggle newspapers; he did not really care for the non-wizarding world a single bit, especially as his work as a Potions professor at Beauxbatons, as a writer for the weekly academic journal _Potions Quotidien_ , and as a researcher at the Ministère de la Sorcellerie consumed the majority of his time, not to mention that he has a family to raise. But Jean Granger came over to his house and told him that it was imperative that he read at least the top story of today's newspapers, and so he found himself sitting down at his dining table, staring at the 22 August version of _La Voix du Nord_. (As I do not wish to try writing an entire article in French, I will provide the article in English):

 **Fourteen killed in Paris in Largest Mass Shooting in Years**

 _Fourteen people are dead – ten adults and four children – after a mass shooting in the station of Alésia in the Paris Métro last Wednesday. One suspect, Michel Fourniret is currently detained by police._

Le Monde _reports that the shooting began at ten-thirty-four in the morning, one of the quieter times of the Paris Métro during the day. According to Inspector Jacques Hollande, the to-be murderer was stalking a tourist family from Alsace, the l'Étrange family, as they walked into the station, as shown by security cameras placed in the station. The murderer attempted to kidnap a young woman from the tourist family, later identified as Yves l'Étrange; he grabbed the woman and started running in the opposite direction, perhaps thinking that there was nobody watching them, but he was spotted by an Australian man named Wendell Wilkins. After telling his wife Monica Wilkins to notify the authorities and the family, Monsieur Wilkins immediately took off after the man, attempting to stop him._

 _A physical fight occurred between the man and Monsieur Wilkins, as the l'Étrange family and two police inspectors came rushing over to detain the man. Then the man pulled out a semi-automatic out and shot all ten of them down, the six members of the l'Étrange family, the two Wilkinses, and Inspectors August and Ernest de Farge. Another tourist family not involved in the incident, the Dursley family from the United Kingdom, was caught in the fire, and the two parents, child, and aunt were killed as well. The man soon fled afterwards…_

 _…The fourteen victims are as follows: August de Farge, Ernest de Farge, Dudley Dursley, Marjorie Dursley, Petunia Dursley, Vernon Dursley, Françoise l'Étrange, Roger l'Étrange, Simon l'Étrange, Thomas l'Étrange, Victorie l'Étrange, Yves l'Étrange, Monica Wilkins, and Wendell Wilkins…_

"What are you reading?"

Charles looked up. It was Thérèse.

"Oh, just _La Voix du Nord_."

"Why are you reading _that_?"

"Jean came over here and told me I had to read this article on this mass shooting in Paris. While I do feel extremely sorry for all those who have died, since this kind of stupid incidents should not happen at all, I still do not comprehend why he would require me to read it. Here, take a look at this article, and see if you could figure out why."

Thérèse took one long look at the article, and she arrived at the same conclusion Charles did. "I don't understand either."

* * *

27 September 1996, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic

The clock struck twelve, which meant that it was now the twenty-eighth of September in 1996. An owl flew in through the window and dropped something right in front of the desk of the Potions Professor.

Charles Manette picked it up and scrutinized the lettering on the front of it. It was a letter from his daughter, the first one in approximately a month. Ripping open the envelope, Charles instantly began reading the French in lines of fine handwriting in beautiful cursive. (I am not going to write an entire letter in French, so here it is in English.)

 _27 September 1996_

 _Dear Father,_

 _Apologies for the delay in the letter; I know that you've been waiting for this ever since school started again, but I have been way too busy the past few weeks, with the classes in the 6_ _th_ _year and whatnot. I thought that getting my OWLs was hard enough; no – Professor Albrecht decided to give us twice the amount of homework and essays now that we are, to quote her own words, "becoming adults." Albrecht isn't even the worst of it; Professor Moody has resigned from his position as Defense against the Dark Arts teacher after teaching for fifteen years, and his replacement, Professor Flavius Bevel, is even stricter than Albrecht is, and that class has become twenty times more difficult. Bevel is a cold man, a cold and distant professor who refuses to associate with anybody, who will rage his arse off with even the smallest mistake a person makes. He even does so when a person is correct, as in the first day in classes, when Professor Bevel asked the entire class a question and Hermione Granger responded with a perfect answer, Bevel called her an insufferable know-it-all without any decency. I shudder to think how the professors at this school can deal with him around, and I can't imagine what it will be if he was around in Beauxbatons and the two of you having to deal with such a man as Bevel._

Charles stopped reading for a second. These thoughts flowed through his mind in French: _Heh, it's a good thing she isn't around in Beauxbatons, if she thinks that Ursula Albrecht and Flavius Bevel are harsh. That is one reason why I brought her to Hogwarts in the first place; I don't have to deal with her constant whining when she realizes how harshly I teach, and I don't want Thérèse to deal with her constant whining to tone it down either. Leave it to others to make her classes strict._

The letter continued:

 _…I do have to point out to you that Bevel does look quite similar to you do, Father. However, it is just a conjecture – I told him the second day that he looks almost the same as I do, expecting to get more information from a conversation with him, but all he responded was, "And do I think I care about your parents?" And when I tried to continue, he cut me out and shouted at the top of his voice, "GET OUT! UNLESS YOU WANT DETENTION!" I have never spoken to him ever since, except when it is required for me to speak in class. Professor Bevel is weirder in other ways; while other teachers usually have houses they are usually associated with – Ravenclaw for Albrecht and Gryffindor for McGonagall for example, Bevel claims to be above the whole House thing, turning a tradition for the last nine hundred years on its head. From what I've heard, even Dumbledore failed to convince him, and Dumbledore never fails._

Charles laughed after reading the last statement; he has had enough memories of Albus Dumbledore to know that Albus has failed at a few things in life – when he last spoke with Dumbledore he had to resort to his not-so-good English, because Albus has failed to master either the French language or the Italian language well enough for Charles to be able to understand Albus. However the points brought up about Flavius Bevel slightly bothered Charles, but Charles decided after pondering on that topic for a couple minutes to think about it later, and to see what else was located within the letter.

 _…There is something that has been bothering me for quite some time right now. In Potions, I seem to no longer be the best person at Potions in our Potions class. And no, Hermione Granger didn't practice extremely hard over the summer – she is also the same as previously. No, apparently that Sean O'Rahilly has decided to suddenly magically improve his Potions skills, and is now completing them in half the time as everybody else is. Naturally, I was suspicious, and my suspicions were confirmed when I decided last week to determine the real reason O'Rahilly was so successful and sneaked around to take a look at his copy of Libatius Borage's Advanced Potion-Making_.

Charles sighed. No wonder why these fools are struggling with Potions. Borage's version of _Advanced Potion-Making_ is fifty years old. Within fifty years, there have been so many discoveries, inventions, improvements, and innovations that the book should have been updated thirty years ago, if not earlier. At least in France he has had the honours of updating the French version with the latest recipes – those recipes that are the fastest and use resources the most efficiently. Many of the recipes are known to the few and far Potion Masters out there, Charles being one of them, some are his own creations, and some are from a mysterious person who evidently wished to remain anonymous, as he, or she, used a pseudonym. His friend and fellow professor of Charms Danilo Settembrini had found the Half-Blood Prince's version of Borage's _Advanced Potion-Making_ while making a visit to Hogwarts some years ago, and brought it back to translate it for Charles to read, learn, and decipher. With that, he came out with his own version of _Advanced Potion-Making_ , or, since it is not available in English, _Production Avancé de les Potions_. Used ever since by the teachers in Beauxbatons, Charles noticed an immediate jump in the skill level of his students.

 _…his copy of Libatius Borage's Advanced Potion-Making. When O'Rahilly wasn't looking, I opened his textbook and took a look inside. On every page, in every margin, there were stuff, hints, shortcuts, that all but just explained why all of a suddenly he became so good at Potions. And, when I closed the book, I noticed that written at the bottom of the back cover was a sentence. "This is the Property of the Half Blood Prince."_

More sighing came from Charles. No wonder why he couldn't find that old book again when he wanted to. Fucking Settembrini decided to return it to Hogwarts. He shouldn't have, as there was a lot more in that book than potion tips. That one fact, Charles decided, was probably the author's reason to conceal his or her true identity.

 _…Do you know who the Half Blood Prince is?_

 _No I do not_ , thought Charles. _Nobody does, and most likely nobody will know._

Charles decided that he was going to have to write multiple letters, not just to his daughter, for she does deserve a response from her father for the letter, but also to various other people, maybe Jean, maybe Ludovico, maybe Hugo, maybe Adolphe, maybe the foreign ambassador to France from the Ministry of Magic in the United Kingdom, but most importantly Albus Dumbledore, demanding why there was a potions book with dark magic spells written inside the book in Hogwarts, and even more importantly, why Hogwarts was still using Borage's version of _Advanced Potion-Making_. Charles hoped that Albus's French has improved considerably within the last seven years as to not require the use of a translator.

 _...And finally, today was Melissa Nakazawa's birthday. Oh, you cannot but imagine the work that Tracey Davis, Mary Bennett, Lucy Wakefield, and I done, all the careful work setting up the surprise for her at the Slytherin Common Room, trying not to spoil it before Melissa enters the room. Her reaction to the surprise birthday party was the best thing I've seen in years; if only you were there to witness her reaction. Anyways, that lasted the entire afternoon and for much of the evening and were some of the most fun I had all year, before Draco Rosier and his gang of terrorists and Death Eater-worshippers decided to barge in on the last second and ruin everything, so I apologise if this reaches you sometime around midnight…_

Charles frowned. Where his daughter's name should be at the bottom of the letter is a large blob of fresh ink. He looked at his left hand and realized that he has been absentmindedly placing his quill on the parchment, right where the closing and signature should be.


End file.
